


Queer Q-ties

by watsonaname



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: FTM Sherlock Holmes, Other, Translock, nonbinary john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsonaname/pseuds/watsonaname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes I come up with random translock headcanons and sometimes I turn them into ficlets. I'll probably add more in the future, so have some drabbles about two queers falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suits

It's one of those obnoxiously fancy stores that Sherlock brings me to. The kind that any average human being never steps foot in during the course of their short time here on earth, but only ever glances into the shop windows longingly. Automatically I feel out of place. I couldn't afford a sock in here, let alone a pair of them. I don't know what he's thinking.

"Suites John." He's baritone rumbles, managing to sound simultaneously bored and amused.

"Ah, erm, right." I'm still getting used to the fact that he can effectively read minds. "Listen, Sher-"

"Obviously you can't afford this place John. I know. That's why I'm here." He flashes me a grin, before sweeping off towards the right side wall. I follow sheepishly, knowing I must stick out like a pigeon among a bevy of swans. Sherlock on the other hand sweeps through as if he  _is_  the head swan. His ridiculous coat swirls ahead of me as if it was born along with him. We reach a selection of pearl gray suits. They look heavenly.  _God, if only._  I brush my fingers against the lush sleeve, glancing around apprehensively. I catch Sherlock's eye and he smirks down at me.  _Shit._  I shove my hands in my jean pockets, trying to hide a creeping blush by turning to look at the small stand of ties to my left.

"Can I help you sir...s?" comes a posh voice from behind me, the rest of the question finishing with an awkward drawn out sound as I turn to face the attendant. My gaze tumbles back to the tile, before darting to Sherlock when he answers the man by listing off my measurements for the same suit I was all but fondling mere moments before.

"Sherlock!" I hiss once the attendant has left. "What the hell?

"Hush John. I cannot have you meeting my parents in well worn jeans and a graphic tee." His remark comes with a role of his eyes. I know he means well, but I can't help the indignant 'hey' that leaves my mouth. Then the smirk makes a reappearance and I can't help but match it with a lopsided grin of my own as he leads me to the dressing rooms in the back. Mr. Fancy Pants is already waiting for us and gestures me towards an open door. I try to say thanks without sounding like a girl. It comes out more of a squeak anyways. I shut the door behind me and face the fight, the faint ticking of Sherlock on his phone making for a nice battle anthem.  _Jesus._  The work of art hanging in front of me is probably worth more than my existence. I begin to try it on anyway. Dress shirt. Trousers. 

"John." Impatience is already leaking into the git's tone.

"In a minute."

Waistcoat. Jacket. I whistle softly and smooth my hands along my sides.

"John."

Sigh. I give myself one more glance before subjecting myself to the Holmes' scrutinizing glare. He's still pecking away at his phone, only flicking his eyes to me briefly. Then the pecking stops. He's blinking at me. Repeatedly. My eyes decide to again become fascinated by the tile, while my blush starts to make a reappearance.

"John-you look-I mean, the suite. It-" He clears his throat, clasps his hands behind his back. "It fits you well."

I hazard a glance up, biting my lip in embarrassment, only to be met with a soft smile gracing my friend's face. And not one of his case winning disguise smiles either, but the kind where his lip curls up just a little higher on the right side and his cerulean eyes shine with warmth instead of fierce intelligence. I exhale softly, a puff of a gasp. He looks away. Moment broken.

A belated thanks tumbles from my lips. I tug at my sleeves.

"They'll be wearing this out." My eyes dart back up. Sherlock is handing a card to the attendant, who is as suddenly gone as he was here.

"Sher-" He's looking at me with a fierce determination now and my futilely attempted protest dies before it is born. I swallow, my next words coming out more soft and defensive then I intended. "What?"

"John, I-" He sighs. Closes his eyes. I wish he would stop saying my name like that. Then his eyes return and for him to stop saying my name that way becomes the last thing in the universe I could ever dream of. To this day, I don't know what possessed me. It must have been that tiny ounce of courage left over from my childhood, because before either of us could blink I rocked onto my toes and pressed a gentle kiss against his cupid bow lips.

Sherlock freezes. I immediately start an apology, only to be cut off half way through by those same lips. Violinist's fingers tickle the skin of my cheeks. I wrap firm arms around a skinny waste. We both lean into the kiss, our eyelids fluttering shut in sync as we tilt our heads to aid in the process. It isn't long before I'm breaking away, the need for air forcing me to separate us. I nuzzle my head against a bony shoulder. Ebony curls brush against my ear and lithe arms slot into their place around my back. I want nothing to break the peace I feel in this moment, but it  _is_  Sherlock who stands flush against me and I can already feel him inhaling to speak his mind.

"I know social custom dictates that one should ask another on a date before pursuing a relationship with that someone; however, I was thinking -" His obnoxious logic is back, yet the phrasing of his words is still a bit off. I decide to end his pain.

"Yes."

Now the blinking again. My turn to smirk. "You want...to be my partner?"

I peck him on the lips and chuckle. "That answer your question genius?"

The brilliance of this new smile beats the previous one by a landslide and I just have to kiss it from that insufferable face.


	2. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some angst for you guys, with a bit of caring Sherlock.

Sherlock woke to the sound of breaking glass and slightly muffled sobs. Before John's name could even leave his lips, he was already bursting out of bed and into the bathroom. The young detective immediately started deducing the situation - broken mirror, small splatters of blood, John bent over the sink, clutching the counter and sobbing.

"John," Sherlock says softly, already turning the older one to face him with a gentle tug of the shoulder. He cups their cheek with one hand, caressing it softly with his thumb. John leans into the touch, while Sherlock carefully takes their left hand to assess the damage. It looks painful, but superficial, so he focuses his attention back on his still crying partner.

"I just-I can't-I" John strangles out. Their tangled thoughts come across even more garbled through their tears. "I'm so angry a-and confused all of the t-time and I hate this! I-I just-argh! W-why c-can't I just be normal?"

Sherlock meets their dejected, pleading gaze with what he hopes is an understanding and sympathetic own of his own.

"Normal is boring," He responds with an exaggerated role of his eyes, hoping to elicit somewhat of a chuckle from his troubled partner. The attempt is only somewhat lost, as it results in a mixture between a huff and a sigh, just with the hint of amusement to it's edge. Sherlock smiles softly at that and cards his fingers through John's soft blonde hair.

In some respects, he considers himself lucky when it comes to being transgender himself. He'd know since he was young that he was male and had both the familial and financial support to resolve any discrepancies as quickly  as possible. John, on the other hand, had no such help. A closed minded and troubled family left them not only confused and misunderstood for the majority of their life, but also with little help once the realization hit. John's never ending struggle with their gender often left them in a state of constant worry and discomfort.

"Let me take care of you." It was a plea, disguised as a command, that John merely submitted to with a tired nod. Their crying had mostly subsided by this point and they moved to sit on the counter, careful to avoid the shards of mirror, while Sherlock pulled the first aid kit from beneath the sink. He cleaned and dressed John's hand efficiently but lovingly, while they rested their head against his shoulder. Once the job was done, Sherlock kissed each of John's freshly bandaged knuckles before placing a last kiss on the top of their head. He let his lips rest there for awhile, burying his nose in John's hair and breathing in their scent.

"I'm sorry," John rasped against his shoulder, squeezing their eyes shut tight in an attempt to avoid another bout of tears. Sherlock simply hushed them and pulled them into a protective hug, whispering for them to come back to bed. John obliged, gripping their partner's hand as they followed him back to the bedroom and releasing it only to crawl into Sherlock's open arms as he sprawled out on the mattress. John buried their face in Sherlock's shoulder as he stroked the back of their head and held them tightly to him.

"There's more to this than you're telling me John." Sherlock hated to push their partner about things like this, but knew getting them to talk always ended up being the better option in the end. John started to cry again, although it wasn't the wracking sobs Sherlock had awoken to. He counted that as a small victory and left a linger kiss on their forehead as encouragement.

"I'm just tired Lock," they whispered, forlorn. "I'm tired of the constant battle, of looking in the mirror and hating what I see there. I'm tired of having to remind myself that it's okay to not fit into society's little boxes. I don't like that I get confused about who I am all the time. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted."

Sherlock new there was nothing he could say. Nothing to fix it, make it better, make it not hurt. So he said the only thing he could.

"I love you."

He hoped it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and the lovely comments! <3 I have one more chapter pretty much set out after this one. So I was thinking if anyone as headcannons or little prompts they'd like to see turn into a ficlet, let me known and I'll see what I can do. :)


	3. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John helps Sherlock realize that he can still wear dresses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kudos and comments everyone!! This chapter kind of came out of nowhere a few days ago after I saw a post on tumblr about trans SHerlock still wearing dresses. I hope you enjoy!

It had always been something Sherlock could just ignore and avoid. He was a man. He dressed like a man, acted like a man, presented as a man. He was a man. And men didn't wear dresses. That was just the way things were and it was never really a problem, until John had dragged him along shopping one day.

"Sherlock, please? You know I hate shopping alone and Molly's too busy today." John's pleading tone had done little to sway him. But then they plopped onto his lap and started dropping soft kisses all over his face while whispering, "Please love?"

Damn them and their adorable nature.

In the end, Sherlock spent the day wandering through various shops with John. They flitted between the men and women's sections, while Sherlock tried to appear bored with the whole affair. He thought he had been doing a good job of it too. Not getting distracted by the floral print sundresses and pastel halter tops and cute floppy sunhats. Or at least that's what he had been telling himself, until his infuriating, fantastic partner saw right through him.

"What'd you think of this 'Lock?" John was holding up a soft green dress with a delicate pattern of roses. It was a lovely, flowy thing that had thin shoulder straps and a low back. It was also about twice as tall as them.

"I think you'll need a smaller size," Sherlock responded, peeling his eyes away from the pretty piece to focus on John.

"Mmm...Yes, but you won't," his partner responded, smirking as they held the dress up to him. Sherlock flushed with color, trying and failing to stammer out an objection. "You've been eyeing this section all day love. It's okay if you want to wear this kind of stuff. You should know better than most that gender expression isn't the same as gender identity."

Sherlock was stilling gaping at them, so John simply smiled and draped the dress over their arm with the other clothes they had found. "Come on. I'm going to pay for it with the rest of my things and then we can head home. You can try it on there if you like."

They took Sherlock's hand and led him over to the register. He stopped them momentarily to add a pale pink sunhat to John's collection, gripping their hand tightly and staring resolutely at the ground to hide his now flaring cheeks as they made their way to the line.

~~~

Once the pair made it back to Baker Street, John took the shopping to the bedroom while Sherlock started the kettle for tea. He could hear his partner rummaging around with the bags and started to feel both nervous and excited. He knew John wouldn't judge him for this, not in a million years, but...what if he looked terrible? He hadn't worn a dress in  _years_. Not since before, well,  _everything_.

The screeching of the kettle pulled the young detective from his thoughts. He carefully made the tea and carried the two mugs into the room. John had laid out the dress and a set of clothes for themself: soft, high-wasted denim shorts and a pale yellow jumper. They took their proffered mug from Sherlock, placing a light peck on his cheek and sat on the corner of the bed.

"I thought we might have a bit of a fashion show, if you want, and that maybe if I tried some new stuff on too, maybe you'd feel a bit more comfortable about it..." John spoke gently and rubbed at the ceramic in their hands, their deep blue eyes dancing briefly away from Sherlock before returning his gaze. Sherlock took a deep breath then gave a small nod in reply, moving to set his tea on the short bedside table. John followed suit, squeezing their partner in a quick hug and flashing him an encouraging grin. They made their way back to their own side of the bed, slipping out of their worn jeans and into the new shorts. The pre-faded denim hugged their bum snugly and provided a welcome distraction for Sherlock, who was slowly peeling off his own clothes. By the time he got undressed, John had already exchanged their binder for a sports bra and was now tugging on their jumper. Sherlock stared back at the dress. He stroked his fingers lightly down its length a few times and finally started to pull it on. He let the material run through his hands as he let it fall around his body, smoothing it down a few times once it was on. He heard a gasp from John and looked up sharply, a grimace gracing his face as he prepared for the worse. But instead of the harsh look he feared, John's face held a loving expression.

"You look quite charming love," they commented with a soft smile. "C'mere."

John took his arm and turned them, so they were both facing the mirror. Sherlock blinked at himself. It did look...nice, he supposed. The dress fit him well, flaring out just enough along the bottom to draw away from his stick like figure. He swallowed nervously and swayed a bit from side to side. He could see John grinning at him with such fondness, asking him if he liked it.

"...yes," he responded softly.

John hummed and hugged Sherlock around the waist. "You're so handsome 'Lock. Why didn't you tell me you looked so damn fine in dresses before?"

"I...it um it's never been the dresses I hate so much really. It's just...the expectations that come with them I suppose."

"Mmm, yeah. I never liked them much either." John mumbled into Sherlock's shoulder. "I hope you feel like that isn't an issue with me though, that you can wear whatever you like regardless of what society might say. I'll never expect anything from you that you aren't willing and happy to give Sher. Please know that."

Sherlock’s lips quirked up into a small smile and he put his arms over John's, giving them a gentle squeeze in response as the two met eyes through the mirror. "I know, John. I know."


	4. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing secrets beneath the stars.

The pair lay in the grass beneath the vastness of space in the sky. John's eyes float across the river of stars, while Sherlock's stare unabashedly at his partner. Their fingers are interlocked, thumbs stroking the backs each other's hands in a well-established rhythm. John hums pleasantly. This is his reward for wearing that silly flower crown all day, though they had to admit - they did look quite adorable in it and Sherlock had seemed a bit more distracted by them than usual. The case had been solved quite efficiently. The culprit was caught towards the beginning of the evening, leaving the couple to enjoy the remainder of the festival. John had been surprised by how many of the bands they recognized and actually quite enjoyed the night. They knew it wasn't really Sherlock's cup of tea, but he'd seemed quite content to simply sway along with John while they enjoyed the night off. After the crowds had dispersed, the two remained and took up their current position. It was really quite a beautiful way to spend a cool summer's night.

Maybe it is the sense of peace John felt, something which seems to allude them from day to day. Or maybe it is the innate sense of introspection caused by the display of universe above them. And then again, maybe it is just that Sherlock makes them feel safe. In the end, it doesn't really matter. What matters is what they share that night. A part of themselves that each has locked away for a long time, because it makes them too vulnerable, too open to attack, too scared. But they are safe here and share they do.

John whispers about they're past. How they love their family, but they're 'concern' about they're 'life choices' suffocated and wounded them.

"Da would tell me that he loved me. That he would always support me and then he'd say he didn't approve of my new haircut or that if I kept dressing like that, no one would want to date me. Mum was a bit better sometimes. But she still said the same things. 'Not even girls like you are going to be interested with all that hair on your body.' I didn't know how to show them they were wrong. Sometimes it was hard to believe they were wrong."

John stops, finding it hard to keep going for a while. That's when Sherlock will encourage them with little anecdotes of his own.

"Mummy cut my hair for me when I was four, just a few days after I had declared I was a boy. Father was almost a bit too pleased looking back. I think he was relieved to not have to worry over a little girl. Mycroft was rather smug about the whole affair, claiming he'd known since I was 18 months old. It pains me to say this, but he probably did. He's always been infuriatingly aware of my nature that way."

John laughs and Sherlock smirk, knowing their partner will feel up to sharing again.

"I think that's why it took me so long. To find myself. I think inside somewhere I just knew. I mean there was always this kind of homophobic undertone in my house. No one really mentioned it except on occasion, but I guess I just knew that it wasn't okay. So my brain just hid that part of me, avoided the subject to try and protect myself. It was bound to fail at some point. You can't hide forever, especially from yourself."

Sherlock squeezes John's hand and they rolls onto their side to curl up against him. He takes it for the hint it is and continues his story.

"My dresses were exchanged for similar sized suits, but I made a fuss about dressing up because I couldn't do experiments. Or play with Redbeard..."

This time Sherlock has to stop and John takes up the role of the comforter, slipping their hand inside his shirt to rub softly at the faint scars they find there.

"I never had friends really, until Molly. It wasn't that the other children judged me for my gender, more so that my personality scared them off. Sally is not the first to throw the term freak at me to say the least. I largely ignored it, but..."

"It still hurt."

"It shouldn't have."

John sits up at this. They brace themself on their elbow and stare into Sherlock's eyes.

"You're only human Sher and you were just a child. No child should have to go through that."

Sherlock lifts a hand to trace the side of John's face and sighs a 'yes, John'.

"I mean it Sherlock. You're allowed to feel emotions. I know you do. You can't hide from me."

He smiles softly at that and pulls John down for a languid kiss, whispering "Of course not, my dear doctor."

John chuckles at that and breaks off the kiss to nuzzle against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I'm not a doctor yet," they mumble, curling against his side once more. "Git."

"Your turn," Sherlock responds with a pleased grin.

"Hmmn...I guess I stumbled upon my identity one day on the Internet and just kind of knew from there. I'd heard of transgender people before, but only in a derogatory way and never really knew what it meant. I tried to learn everything I could before I came out and didn't end up actually coming out until a few months before uni. My friends took it well I guess. None of them tried to use my pronouns or anything and they used it as a punchline a lot, but I figured that was better than the alternative. Harry still doesn't get it oddly enough. I'm not sure her or the rest of my family ever will really."

"As supportive as my relations are, they will never understand it entirely either. I think it may be quite impossible for any cisgender person."

John kisses Sherlock's shoulder in lieu of a response and he returns the favor with a press of lips to the top of John's head. The pair grows quiet again, the soft sounds of nature filling the silence for them.

"It's getting late," John yawns after a while. "I'm getting sleepy."

"We'll leave in a bit love."

Sherlock's eyes now gaze at the beauty above them and his voice sounds a tad distant to John. They merely hum and snuggle closer to the warmth of their partner, drifting into a light doze while he studies the stars. Before long, the cold is settling into Sherlock's bones and he decides it is indeed time for them to make their way back to the hotel. He carefully extracts himself from John and his coat, letting it fall around the other's shoulders. He scoops his partner up bridal style. John's emits a questioning peep, half asleep and already drifting off again. Sherlock pulls them close and heads for the car.

It takes only a few minutes before they've reached the vehicle and Sherlock manages to bundle his now sleeping partner into the passenger seat, buckling them in. He reaches his own seat and begins the drive home, a rare sense of calm settling over his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was a bit inspired by nonbinaryjohn's adorable ficlet on tumblr, which you should definitely go read [ here](http://idontmind.co.vu/post/112163922831/literally-anything-fluffy-with-nb-john-maybe).
> 
> Thank you for the kudos lovelies and thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. <3


	5. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John needs a little extra love once in awhile. Sherlock will always be there to give it.

It hits as soon as they wake up. A gnawing feeling in their chest that creeps it’s way through their skin, until everything feels _wrong_.

There is no predicting days like this. No preventing them or prepping for them. Nothing.

And there is no way to make the wrongness go away on these days either. Sure, a case might distract them for awhile or watching a movie might take them out their mind for a few hours, but nothing can remove that ache in their bones.

There is someone who can dull the ache though. A certain consulting detective who, judging by their partner’s cold side of the bed, is already out for the day. Lovely.

Mountains of dysphoria and no Sherlock to help them through it.

John huffs a sigh and shuffles themself into a sitting position on the bed. They know they should get up. Maybe make tea or take a shower. Do something to give the illusion of productivity.

But John is just so tired. So very tired.

They end up huddled against the headboard instead, knees pulled up and sheet clutched to their chest. They curl in on themself, eyes already beginning to burn.

John hates this. Hates how everything is wrong.

There shouldn’t be curves on their sides and lumps on their chest. The hair on their legs should be thicker and the size of their stomach should be smaller. Their hands are too small. Their face too soft and-

“Hello beautiful.”

Words spoken in a deep murmur break John’s thoughts midstream. A pair of thin arms wrap tightly around them from behind and a curly topped head nuzzles itself against their neck.

“I love you.”

John shakes their head and gives a shaky laugh. “I love you too, but I’m not beautiful ‘Lock.”

Sherlock responds between placing soft kisses on their shoulders.

“You are John. You are utterly gorgeous” A peck to the right.

“And breathtaking” A peck to the left.

“And luminous” A lingering peck in between.

“You would do well not to forget that.”

John swallows thickly, their eyes squeezing shut as they press into their partner’s tight grasp. Sherlock continues his ministrations, kissing along the side of his partner’s face for awhile. Eventually he whispers directly in John’s ear.

“You are so beautiful and you are so loved, my dear Watson.”

This earns him a slight blush and a shy smile from John, along with a quiet 'thank you’.

John isn’t better really, not by a long shot, but they are loved and John is alright with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had this little short written up on tumblr for awhile (thanks to an idea of [ genderfluidjohn](http://watsonaname.tumblr.com/post/119257141471/john-going-through-a-bout-of-dysphoria-and-just)'s), but haven't been able to put it on here until now. Sorry for the delay! I have another chapter in mind and hope to get it written out soon.
> 
> Again thank you for the kudos and comments!! <3


	6. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the only thing a person need is someone who is willing to listen.

Sherlock can tell as soon as John walks in the door that they're having one of those days. The kind were they seem to curl into themself, both literally and metaphorically drawing away from the world in an attempt to escape.

"Hey 'Lock." It's a soft sigh more than a greeting really, directed towards him with a blank look of the eyes that betrays their smile for a fake. He knows that John will try to hide their upset just as well as John knows he can see through their defenses.

John shrugs off their bag and coat, tosses them onto their chair and drifts into the bathroom. Sherlock decides the best method of action for now is to give them some space. He goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on and hears John move to the bedroom. He watches them silently from the doorway and waits for the water to boil.

John's shoulders are hunched and their movements are slow as they tug off their layers, exchanging worn jeans for boxer briefs and jumper and button up for an old band tee. He mentally notes that they don't remove their binder, then heads back into the kitchen and finishes making tea.

Definitely one of those days then.

Sherlock knows what John's feeling well enough. Most people like them can relate. He supposes that makes both their lives a little easier, having someone who understands.

Once the tea is done and Sherlock brings it to the bedroom, he finds his partner huddled up on their side facing the door. He sets their mug on the bedside table and settles next to them with his own.

"Scottish breakfast?" John mumbles, peering up at Sherlock. The detective takes a sip and cards a hand through his partner's blonde strands.

"Hmm. Sit up and you can have some."

John rolls their eyes, but complies with the request. Instead of reaching for their own tea, they simply wrap their hands around Sherlock's and pull it to their lips.

"I did make you you're own you know." The detective huffs. John hums monotonously and continues to drink his tea anyway.

The two sit in silence for a bit, passing the mug between them. John's still slumped in on themself. Sherlock watches them pick at loose threads in the sheets.

It's funny really. Most people think John's the one who shares their feelings easily. To a degree, it's true. John isn't one to hide their joy or sorrow. But they aren't the type to really share in their worries either. You might see their upset, but they'll never explain the truth behind it.

Sherlock and them have that in common, being emotionally constipated. Neither of them find it easy to share their inner thoughts. They're trying to work on it though. Together. John prompts Sherlock into talking during his black moods and he returns the favor in times like this. It's their own little game in a way, a system composed of comfort designed to make them feel safe even if they're terribly vulnerable. 

Sherlock's already made the first move for today.

Tea really does fix everything.

"Talk," Sherlock commands softly, draining the mug and setting it aside. He places his hands over John's, stilling their nervous movements.

"You don't need to hear me complain about the same shit over and over again Sherlock." The sighed response does little to deter the detective.

"And you need to hear _me_ complain about the same shit over and over again, as you so elegantly put it?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Sherlock turns John's hands over in his own, rubbing slow circles into their palms. "And you know I won't take that for an answer John."

They shrug. "I just want to go to bed."

"You need to relax first, my dear Watson," Sherlock replies, cerulean eyes softening as they catch their gaze.

John sighs again, but leans their head against his chest instead of pulling away. Sherlock takes this for the forfeit it is and places a kiss to their head in encouragement.

"I was misgendered in class today. By my professor," John mumbles into his chest. "I'd thought he understood and was fine with it. Well...I mean I know he doesn't really get it or anything, but he seemed like he'd still call me by the right name and use he and stuff, since nobody can seem to grasp the concept of singular they."

"Idiots." Sherlock scoffs, moving his thumbs down to John's wrists.

"Yeah, well the idiot used she and you know how I hate to correct people, so I just let it alone but then he kept using it and everyone was watching me and-"

"Breathe John," Sherlock shushes, moving on from their wrists to massage each of their arms. John follows his advice and slows their breathing, focusing in on the movement of Sherlock's hands. A few minutes pass before John calms down. Sherlock takes the time to rearrange them on the bed, settling his back against the headboard and pressing John to his chest. He rubs their shoulders. They nuzzle the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into John's ear.

"I just hate feeling like I have to defend my gender, you know? Like I have to explain myself to everyone I meet," John shrugs and wraps their arms around their partner. "I can't help it if I don't fit into society's stupid little boxes. I'm still human."

"I know, John. I know."

They yawn softly in response and snuggle in further.

"Tired?"

"Mmmn...can I sleep now?"

"Not in your binder, my dear doctor." Sherlock knows the endearment will do little to change his partner's mind, but he still has to try.

John pulls away at the comment, curling protective fingers around their sides. He knows he's lost the battle before it even begins.

"Sherlock, I can't. Just let me this one time, yeah?"

"John..."

"No." They shake their head and hug themself tighter. "You've done it before too. You know you have, so just leave it okay? Please."

Sherlock sighs and runs another hand through John's hair, deciding it's best to give it up for now.

"Alright."

John slumps forward again and breathes a soft 'thank you' into Sherlock's chest. The young man hums and returns to slowly massaging John's back. It doesn't take long for their breathing to even out and they're soon dozing off in his lap. 

He lets them sleep for a little while longer, continuing to rub soothing circles along their back. He's still going to get them out of their binder in a bit, even if he has to tug it off himself. John might be angry later, but he's too protective of his partner to leave it alone. He hates to admit it, but the horror stories about improper binding scare him shitless and he won't let anything like that happen. Not to his John.

Once he can hear light snoring from his partner, Sherlock thinks he's safe to jostle them without waking them up. He sits John up a bit and is able to pull their shirt off with relative ease. Of course the binder proves more difficult. He guides John's arms to rest over his shoulders and tries to peel it over their head, but only manages to tug if halfway up. It's kind of comical really, John draped against him snoring with a binder only half on their chest.

Sherlock tries not to chuckle and starts to tug at the fabric again. He doesn't get very far before John starts to stir.

"Mnm...Sh'rlock?" Their slurred question pushes Sherlock past his breaking point and he can't help but  laugh in response. 

"What's'it...?" John mumbles, following his gaze down to their chest. "Oh. Huh."

"I'm sorry, John. I was trying to get it off without waking you up."

"Mhm." They nod solemnly, eyes slipping closed again. Sherlock stiffles another chuckle and shifts John against his chest.

"Go back to sleep. I'll handle it."

They blink up at him sleepily and manage a small shake of their head.

"No, s'all...s'all righ...i'ma help." John yawns the words into Sherlock's chest and wriggles against him in an attempt to work the fabric over their head.

"Alright, John, alright," Sherlock smiles fondly and presses a kiss to the top of their head. "I'll pull and you do that."

"Kay."

Sherlock's grin widens and he tugs at the binder agian. He manages to slip it up over John's head this time, his partner's aimless wiggles actually proving to be a bit helpful.

"There. Now I just have to get your shirt back on," Sherlock mumbles into John's hair as he grabs the soft tee and turns it right side out. "Here John."

He guides each appendage through the proper hole with only minor confusion and pulls the rest of the tee down their front. Sherlock gently shifts John and himself onto their backs before reaching for the duvet.

"Th'nks 'lock," John sighs, snuggling into his side. "Love'a lots."

Sherlock curls one arm around John's back and pulls the blanket over them both, lithe fingers threading their way through John's soft locks.

"I love you too John," Sherlock whispers, pressing a long kiss to their cheek. John tries to return the favor, puckered lips reaching sleepily towards Sherlock. He smiles, amused, and gives them a kiss before settling them in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a lot longer than I thought it would to get this next chapter out, but I think I'm really happy with it. I never really set a time period for the story, but in my head this is pretty much a unilock story - hence John talking about classes in this chapter. Anyway, I hope you all liked it! 
> 
> This actually stemmed from another one of [ genderfluidjohn](http://watsonaname.tumblr.com/post/120808051941/john-having-gender-issues-and-wanting-to-sleep-in)'s amazing ideas. Seriously, his asks are half the reason I end up writing stuff, so a thousand thanks to him!!
> 
> Also, thanks for the kudos lovelies! Hopefully I'll have another chapter coming along soon . <3


	7. Guest Chapter by genderfluidjohn!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for me by the wonderful [ genderfluidjohn](http://genderfluidjohn.tumblr.com/post/122735119924/sherlock-johns-voice-uncertain-hesitant) and it was so sweet I just had to add it. So if you enjoy, go check out his tumblr!

“Sherlock?” John’s voice, uncertain, hesitant, with just a bit of awe. Not urgent, but John would be at least annoyed if he didn’t respond.

“What is it?” he asked as he rounded the corner into their now shared room. John was already inside, their med class getting out an hour and a half before his chemistry. Often times John would wait for him, sitting in the library or a cafe for him to get out, but not today. On the bed next to them sat a box opened with a pair of scissors, a layer of grey paper and a crisp white tank top on their lap.

“When did-” he licked his lips, staring at the package on John’s lap. “I was hoping to watch you open it…” He had ordered it just recently, thought he had more time, that it would come some time when John was out and he could hide it and surprise them with it, watch their reaction as they realized what it was.

“It had my name on it. Is it- I mean is this-?” They picked it up and held it in their hands, rubbing their thumbs against the fabric before gently tugging on it to feel it stretch.

“Try it on. I had to estimate but I believe I got the sizing right. And before you protest you needed one. You’ve complained about them more than once, and besides you shouldn’t be using those bandages.” John blushed red and looked down, embarrassed at being caught, busying themself instead with putting on the binder. They hadn’t used bandages much, only or twice and only when Sherlock wasn’t around to criticize them about how unsafe it was, but apparently that alone did not mean Sherlock was unaware.

They turned their back (not as if Sherlock hasn’t seen, as if he didn’t have the same exact things he was plotting to get rid of, but it still felt like the right thing to do), slipping their shirt off and grabbing the binder to put on instead. It slipped easily over their head and arms but bunched up high on their chest above their boobs. They reached down, struggling to find the bottom and untangle it.

“Here.” Sherlock reached around and found the bottom, grabbing it and pulling it down over there chest for them. He pressed a light kiss to their cheek as he stood back up. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. How does it feel? Not too tight? If it’s too small there’s no point, it’s just as bad as those bandages you use.”

John chuckled and turned around to face Sherlock, hand smoothing down their sides before moving up to feel how flat their chest was. “It’s fine. Perfect. Can I look?”

Sherlock nodded and moved out of the way so John could get to the mirror on the door of the closet. He watched as John’s eyes widened and a numbing look of awe appeared on their face and he smiled, glad he could give them this happiness.


	8. Guest Chapter by genderfluidjohn - Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another written by my awesome friend [ genderfluidjohn](http://genderfluidjohn.tumblr.com/post/122735119924/sherlock-johns-voice-uncertain-hesitant). It's adorable and lovely, so show him some thanks over on tumblr!

They walked into their flat with a huff, putting the bags on the nearest flat surface (the floor, for now at least) and leaning back to stretch. God forbid Sherlock actually help them with the chores for once. Their back was killing them, a problem not at all helped by the binder they had on. John sighed and wiggled a little, trying but failing to work the kinks out of their back. No dice. They would have to take it off, at least for a bit. Still, ignoring the pain, they began to put the groceries away, putting their back aside for a moment in order to make sure the frozens didn’t melt. Not necessarily the best idea, but surely their back could wait five or ten minutes.

As soon as the last can was on the shelf they slumped a little more, rubbing their eyes a bit as they moved to their shared bedroom. They had been out practically all day, first visiting Harry, then later running errands. And of course Sherlock had refused to come with them. Not that they wanted him near Harry, but at least he could do some of the shopping and running around himself. He was in uni after all, he was more than capable of buying his own damn food.

They opened the door to the bedroom, more than ready to get out of their damn binder, despite how much they also wanted to keep it on. Sherlock sat on their bed, laptop out, his eyes whipping up to look at them in alarm as they walked, quickly huddling in on himself.

His shirt.

No,  _John’s_  shirt.

_John’s transparent, crop top shirt._

Sherlock stared at them in shock, arms slowly coming in to cover his chest, face scared and eyes wide. John blinked at them a couple of times, processing. Sherlock was wearing their crop top, thin blue see-through material. It fit him differently than it did John, tighter and shorter, and through the thin fabric they could see the small lines of Sherlock’s scars. After a minute John relaxed a reassuring smile spreading its way across their face.

“You um… I like it. On you. That is, I mean, you look good in it.” John winced at their failure to speak, but as they talked Sherlock seemed to relax a bit. They watched as his shoulders slowly grew less tense and he breathed out a sigh of relief. “It’s fine you know. It’s not like you’re any less… They’re just clothes. If anyone gets that I do.”

Sherlock nodded, starting to smile just a bit. John gave him a kiss before taking off their binder, leaving their shirt off so they were just in their jeans.

“Just no heels, okay? You’re already too tall as it is.” He rolled his eyes and gave John a shove but smiled. John leaned into him to give Sherlock a lingering kiss. “Lucky I have such a handsome boyfriend.”

Sherlock hummed into John’s mouth and smiled. “I don’t know. I’ve got a pretty good looking one too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this, I realize it has been kind of forever since I've written anything for this story which is kind of sad. Summer's been a bit crazy, but I'm hoping I'll have something for you lovelies soon. Thank you for reading and for the kudos! <3


	9. Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home after a late study sesh to find a precious sight.

It has been a long night for John. They'd squirreled away in the library to work on a report about...six hours ago.

"Shit," John breathes, running a hand through their hair before rubbing their face.

The report had taken much longer than they had originally intended. Once they started writing, they'd gotten caught up in their topic and ranted for quite awhile it seems. Emitting a yawn, John shuffles their stuff into their bag and heads for the exit. They check their phone, switching it off of silent mode. As is expected, they have about 30 unread messages from Sherlock. John thumbs through them as they make their way home, chuckling at some and rolling their eyes at others. They send a quick response, turn on some music and zone out a bit on the tube.

By the time John arrives home, they're exhausted and ready to just drop into bed. Once they manage to unlock the door and trudge up the stairs, they dump their bag in their chair and head straight for the bedroom. It has started to register that something is a bit off. Sherlock usually accosts (and they mean that in the most loving way possible) them as soon as they walk in the door. But tonight, there isn't a sound to be heard in the flat.

They see why when they make it to the bedroom. Sherlock is sprawled out on the bed, starfish style. He's fast asleep, phone lying just out of reach. He's dressed in nothing but pants and one of John's sweaters. Of course, this mean it's a little loose and a lot short. The sleeves end far above his wrists and the bottom hem is scrunched up above his navel. His hair is a disheveled halo round his head.

John huffs a laugh. They pull out their phone and quietly snap some photos. It's too precious of a sight not to. John smirks. They set their phone on the bedside table and shrug out of their clothes. Gently, they crawl onto the bed and lay down along the length of their sleepy detective. John buries their face in Sherlock's hair and nuzzle their nose against the nape of his neck.

There's an indignant huff and a muffled "cold" from underneath them, as Sherlock wakes and shuffles to pull away.

"Awww love, m'sorry. Didn't think about that." John mindlessly rubs his nose and Sherlock emits another huff. He's moved to his side of the bed now and curled up on his side. John chuckles and follows suit. They pull the duvet up with them, wrapping it and their arm over Sherlock.

"Goodnight gorgeous."

Sherlock cuddles into their embrace. John smiles softly and presses a kiss to his neck.

"Goodnight John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, it's been a long time since I've posted any new content here. I'm really sorry about that. Life has grown increasingly busy since I started this fic and to be honest, I'd somewhat forgotten about it. I don't know how often I'll update this in the future, but I hope to keep it going indefinitely. Thank you everyone for you kudos and comments. They are very much appreciated. <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting anything on AO3 or any Sherlock fic, so any thoughts or comments would be lovely. Thanks for reading!


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